


On Bleaklow Moor

by indecisivelyindependent



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, actual morning gowns, and rocks and mountains, the british peerage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisivelyindependent/pseuds/indecisivelyindependent
Summary: In which Catherine Bennet, not four-and-twenty, is everyone's favorite aunt, finds the hills and vales of Derbyshire to be more thrilling than a hundred regimentals, and appears quite determined to put the silliness of youth behind her.Also starring a drafty castle, a newly-minted duke, and morning gowns that button to the throat.
Relationships: Kitty Bennet/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. A Coming Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: Jane Austen is a queen, I am not British (nor is my spelling), and I've read so much P&P fanfic that this is probably derivative of it all. So if you're a fellow reader, thank you, and if you're a fellow writer, thank you even more.

1817 was a memorable year for the county of Derbyshire. January opened remarkably cold, with snow whipping east over Kinder Scout toward Stanage Edge, covering the villages from Edale to Hathersage in ice and sleet. Winter lingered on through March and into April, emptying the post roads and freezing the River Noe.

And even when spring did at last arrive, all it seemed to carry was unending rain.

“Do shut the curtains, Kitty—you know how quick a draft flies through this side of the house, and how easily Ned is like to catch cold,” Elizabeth said to her sister, who was gazing out at the wooded hills that curved beyond the fresh-cut lawns of Pemberley.

“But look how the clouds come on, Lizzy. Do you think we’re in for another storm? All it seems to do is storm, with but a moment of sunshine a week.”

“And that moment, like as not, while we are sitting in church. I daresay it will storm tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next. No need to stare at it as it comes.”

Kitty sighed, pulled the curtains closed, and turned towards Lizzy. Her elder sister sat in a chair pulled close to the nursery hearth, with a son on her lap and a daughter at her knees. Five years of marriage had brought two children to the Darcy household, as well as not one, but two aunts. The idea of perpetually shuttling back and forth between the Bingley estate in Staffordshire and the Darcys’ in Derbyshire was exhausting to Kitty, so she cautiously petitioned Lizzy for a longer term at Pemberley. Lizzy broached the subject with her husband, who, while not holding complete approval over Kitty’s more energetically-driven escapades, did see himself as a kind of guardian over his recently-acquired sister.

“Besides,” Lizzy told him one evening, “you cannot help but recognize how her good humor has affected Georgiana.”

And that, of course, settled the subject. Georgiana and Kitty were almost of an age—Lydia Wickham was, of course, closer in years, if not temperament, to Miss Darcy, but that sister only visited Pemberley but briefly, and even then never in any room long enough for any kind of sustained conversation—and Darcy did, indeed, see how strongly his sister and Lizzy's youngest-but-one had attached themselves. Even when Kitty was off to family in Staffordshire or Hertfordshire, not a day went by when a letter did not arrive for one addressed by the other.

“It will save the mail coach, at least,” said Darcy.

And so it was settled: Kitty was to stay at Pemberley for as long as she so desired, and the bitter cold of her first full winter in Derbyshire gave way to the misty mornings of spring.


	2. A Steady Spring

“Your Grace?”

This room is never warm enough, Hugh Cuthbert thought as he poked at the fire in the Great Hall. Upper House in its entirety, from larder to attic, was never, ever warm enough, not even in April.

“Your Grace?”

Rugs. Rugs to cover the stone floors, tapestries for the walls. Anything to keep in the heat.

“Colonel Cuthbert. Sir.”

Hugh turned and found his steward not five feet away. “Jacob?”

Jacob Clarke sighed and shook his head. “We’re not on the battlefield, sir.”

“We could have died on said battlefield. There is no rank after that kind of fight, as you are well aware.” Hugh moved to sit in a wing chair, still angled towards the hearth, and nodded towards its matching seat. “Sit down, Jacob. You can berate just as well without looming over me.”

Jacob sat, not without reluctance. “I’m not to call you Hugh—which you know. You must get used to being referred to as Your Grace, for the sake of the maids at least.”

“For the maids, and the footmen, the parish, the county, not to mention the House of Lords and the Prince Regent. My creditors are legion, Jacob, and I am not Bradford.” Hugh glared at the fire, avoiding the even gaze he knew Jacob would hold. As if he needed another reminder, beyond the slight throb in his leg, the stack of heavy letters on his desk, the miles and miles of moorland and dales and hamlets from the North Pennines to the southern edge of Yorkshire. The band of black crepe twined around his arm.

“It’s been less than two months, Hugh. You have time to learn.”

“As if a year would make a difference. I should be in Parliament, not moldering about an estate that I need to set behind.”

“You’re not expected to leap right into the fray—this isn’t Waterloo, and Parliament will still be Parliament in a year. For all his foibles, His Royal Highness has given you time to mourn.”

“And you think I haven’t.”

“I think you’ve avoided it.”

Hugh closed his eyes. If he pushed aside the roar of cannon fire and the bright flash of sword pulled from sheath, he could see Charles’s grin. The best kind of older brother, laughing and teasing and never afraid of a fight. Charles had been Bradford from the start—when not yet in name, then at least in temperament. And when, at five-and-twenty, he did become the Duke of Bradford, Charles was more than ready.

Hugh was never going to be what Charles had been. _Had_ been: best of brothers, forgiven for his faults, always one step ahead.

But Hugh couldn’t follow behind Charles any longer.

* * *

April had always been Kitty’s favorite month. Springtime at Longbourn was full of tulips and periwinkles and newborn animals, as well as visits to Meryton once the weather warmed enough for walking. And while Lambton was farther afield and Pemberley’s gardens more austere, Derbyshire's springtime was _still_ springtime.

Kitty had made it a weekly goal to coax Georgiana into taking tea in the walled garden, even though there was a lingering chance of snow.

“We’ve spent months at the windows, Georgiana,” she said one afternoon, “and you know Lizzy is always trying to convince you to take more air.”

“By way of my brother, you mean,” said Georgiana with a smile, “whom your sister knows I will not refuse. Do you think it’s wise, this early?”

“Tea is _hot_. Where better to drink it than outside on a cool day? And it will be warm enough under our wraps and bonnets. I can’t abide another day inside, and you know it.”

“But you’ve handled winter well, I think. We were concerned—”

“—that I would despise months and months of Pemberley’s cold, I know. But I didn’t, Georgiana. A bit slow some days, yes, but Ned and Violet provide entertainment enough for me and smiles enough for you, so how can we help but be content? And now it is springtime and we should take our tea outside.”

Kitty could be as persuasive as Darcy, so the two were soon seated at a table in a corner of the garden, where the breeze was not as strong. There were robins in the overturned dirt, and the gardeners had cleared back the browned leaves.

“Isn’t it perfectly lovely? And the air—just imagine how heavy the air in London would be right now…” Kitty had pushed back the brim of her bonnet to let the sun fall on her face for a moment. And Georgiana looked pensive.

“Do you miss London, Kitty? Last season you were with the Bingleys—”

“—and my mother.” Kitty sighed and set down her tea. “No, I don’t miss London. I thought that, given time, I’d be anxious to return to town, but I find I’d rather not.”

“You always have such fun, though.”

“I always _look_ to have such fun. You and Lizzy know that, and Jane, too. But season after season, the same dances, the same dancers, the same gossip and visits and walks. Here, I can watch the sky change. I can’t do that in London.”

“It doesn’t hurt that remaining here allows us to avoid unanswerable questions.” Georgiana’s eyes held a tinge of laughter.

“And I am two years ahead of you when it comes to the drift of those questions, so you shouldn’t complain…” Kitty shook her head, fiddling with her bonnet. “As if marriage is the only option.”

“Marriage _is_ the only option, _Catherine_.” Georgiana was always so very earnest, even when she was teasing. They’d had this conversation over and over again.

“Not when there’s Pemberley, and a nephew who will inherit. I am not afraid of turning into my mother, spending my years bemoaning the entail. We are so lucky.”

“But are _we_ ,” and Kitty noticed the subtle emphasis that shifted the question her way, “happy?”

“I can enjoy my life here, Georgiana. At Pemberley, with my family. I _am_ happy.”

But Kitty could hear the hint of uncertainty in her own voice.


End file.
